


the angriest dog in the world

by Faetality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Enforcer Peter Hale, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Left Hand Peter Hale, POV Peter Hale, Past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: The dog who is so angry he cannot move. He cannot eat. He cannot sleep. He can just barely growl. Bound so tightly with tension and anger, he approaches the state of rigor mortis. - David Lynch





	the angriest dog in the world

** _The dog who is so angry he cannot move._ **

Peter was nine years old when he lost someone for the first time. Oh, he knew about death. He was no stranger to such things; having grown up in a pack of wolves. The way a heart faltered when claws and fangs sunk deep into tender flesh or how a death rattle sounded in an animal’s lung. He’d been there when Mrs. Carnellan died, the old woman who babysat his older siblings. No, he was not a stranger to death. But it was the first time he had  _ lost.  _

His father stood before him, with sadness in his eyes and a grief-stricken howl lingering on his lips. His sister stood behind him, alpha red eyes cast down as if she had the  _ right  _ to be ashamed. Peter was nine years old when he first felt rage grip his heart, thundering fast in his tiny chest. Claws prickling at his fingertips and palms, fists shaking against his will. He was nine years old when his mother died. 

He didn’t cry when he felt the bond snap. He didn’t move when his father pulled him into a hug, his scent so sour with grief that it made Peter’s stomach turn. He didn’t howl with his brother and his sisters to the cruel silver moon. He wasn’t  _ sad.  _ He was  _ furious.  _ He was angry and he did not move until the sun burned his eyes. 

** _He cannot eat._ **

“ _ Why? _ Why won’t you trust me?” 

“I do trust you.” Talia said it so easily, not a stutter in her heart. It made the fire in his chest flare higher. The table between them shook with the force of his palms slamming down upon it. He hated her. Only for a moment. 

She didn’t trust him- she trusted him to kill for her. To protect their pack with his teeth, claws, with his life and his very soul if necessary. But she didn’t trust  _ him.  _

“Fine, Talia. Keep your secrets.”

“Peter-”

“And keep your dinner too.” 

** _He cannot sleep._ **

He had learned to love them all. Their mistrust and their fear and their ignorance of the things he had done to keep them safe in their beds at night. He loved them as fiercely as he had ever been hurt. It was in the way that Derek came to him with his eyes wide and a basketball too big for his hands, asking Peter to help him practice. It was in baby Cora’s teetering steps and hands tugging at his pants leg to be lifted  _ high, higher, no!  _ And her bright laughter. In James’ steady hands and in his daughter’s love for mischief. In grandmother’s recipe books and her sharp eyes as he kneaded dough for her. It was even in his father, trying so hard for forgiveness. He loved them. He loved Katerina and her fragility, the way she  _ always _ took care of the pack- human as she was. 

He loved them and he hated that they would never see the depth of it.

He walked along the territory edge, the new moon leaving him with the knowledge that he was unseen. It was anger that kept him walking, fury that his family might be in danger. That someone would dare to  _ put  _ them in danger. So he shunned sleep and he walked.

** _He can just barely growl._ **

Watching him walk away, back straight and head held high, he knows the pain in his chest is his own fault. That he should have forgotten the man’s pretty blue eyes the second his back was turned. He should have never believed that he could have been loved by such a monster. A monster with hands that held him close and lips that lied. The worst kind of monster ; the beautiful one. He could only watch him walk away, furious with his own weakness. And he could hardly even growl. 

** _Bound so tightly with tension and anger, he approaches the state of rigor mortis._ **

White walls. White robes. White outside the window for as far as the eye could see. White. White.  _ White.  _ The hospital with its sterile halls and beeping machines, with its chemical burn in his nose and the way that they talked about him as though he no longer lived even though his heart was pounding away in his chest no matter how unworthy he was of it.  _ They’re dead. Dead. You failed. They’re dead. It’s all on you and you’re still here. Your fault.  _ __   
  


With white walls and nothing more. He stared into the nothingness and let the rage fester in his heart. What did it matter? He was already dead.


End file.
